


If Only I Had the Words

by embro



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, Kind of a prompt fill but not really, Liam has anger issues, M/M, Short, Zayn is a nerd, might turn into a thing I don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-24 23:56:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embro/pseuds/embro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam is a jock with anger issues, struggling to feel acceptance amongst his friends. </p><p>He's had a crush on the quiet arty boy Zayn since Year 8, and finally does something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Only I Had the Words

**Author's Note:**

> I remade on [Tumblr ](http://harryventura.tumblr.com)

It’s not like Liam had just suddenly started noticing Zayn one day; seen him and thought _wow, what a pretty boy_. He’d always been somewhat aware of him.

They’d only had three classes together in the last four years. There had been Geography in Year 8, and in tenth they shared Maths and P.E.

They actually sat together in that first class. The teacher decided to designate the seating, and Liam had grown incredibly nervous when his name was called after Zayn’s. Not because Zayn looked frightening, but because he looked smart and interesting and those kind of people intimidated Liam. He was a slow reader and thinker, and he was insecure about his hand-writing ever since his Year Four teacher called him out on it in front of the class. Zayn looked like the type of person that would make Liam feel dumb, so when he sat down beside the boy he sent him a wary smile and said “I’m Liam.” 

Zayn smiled small and said “I heard.” 

And Liam felt dumb already. 

Except that feeling didn’t last long, the inadequacy, because Zayn wasn’t the cruel type; he was the kind and helpful type of smart person, the kind that noticed Liam’s confusion and wanted to help. And even if the only times they ever spoke were when Zayn pointed at cities on a map or taught him poems to help him remember little facts, the darker skinned boy that wore thick glasses and jumpers three sizes too big made geography Liam’s new favourite subject. 

 

They didn’t really speak much outside of class though. They had different friends and opposing hobbies. 

Liam played football and Zayn had his art. Liam’s mates were all in the school team with him, and Zayn only had one friend. He was called Harry, and the only thing that Liam could find out about him when he asked around was that he threw up in the middle of a speech when he was ten and still couldn’t shake the reputation. 

He sometimes liked to watch the two boys at lunch, when his own friends were being particularly annoying, and their friendship looked comfortable; like something Liam wanted to be a part of. He had his own good friends, Louis and Niall, but the three of them didn’t touch like Harry and Zayn did, or have that kind of privacy. Liam’s friends were loud and crass and sometimes cruel, the kind of boys that liked an audience, and Liam longed for something quiet. Some _one_ quiet, like Zayn, who could actually properly listen. 

It’s what Liam missed most about their class together, apart from the occasional arm grazes and seeing Zayn smile from up close. The way Zayn looked at him in the eyes when Liam asked a question or told a story but couldn’t manage to keep the contact when he himself spoke; how he would look back down at the pen in his hand, moving above the notebook without touching, as if drawing in the air what he couldn’t get out in words. 

He remembered things too. Things that Liam mentioned in one class, Zayn would ask about in the next. Like whether Liam’s baby cousin was feeling any better, or if Pythagoras’ Theorem was making any sense yet, or if he got in trouble for punching a hole through his bedroom wall. 

Liam didn’t know why he told Zayn that. He still wondered about it now, three years after that conversation, why Zayn reacted the way he did when Liam spoke about how he did that sometimes, punch walls that he couldn’t remember punching. Zayn hadn’t laughed or shied back or think Liam insane.

Zayn had asked what Liam had planned for the weekend, and Liam had replied “I might be grounded after Mum sees the wall”. And Zayn looked at Liam in that way he did, like he was really _seeing_ , so Liam added “I got into a fight with my Dad and I punched the wall. I don’t handle my anger very well.”

Zayn nodded and said “You can tell me about it if you like” so Liam did. He told him how he used to get into physical fights with other boys when he was in kindergarten through to Year 3, how his parents always thought there was something wrong with him and maybe there was. He never liked to hurt other people, he just didn’t know how else to explain himself, what he meant and how he was feeling.

His parents took him to someone when they were asked to find another school for Liam to go to, and it helped. He learnt ways to control his anger, to use words instead of fists. But Liam was never good with his words, was never going to be, so sometimes he snapped. 

“You’re trying Liam, that’s the important thing.” Zayn had said, and Liam felt that familiar prickle behind his eyes, the one he got when he was angry. But he didn’t feel angry, he felt understood. 

 

Louis and Niall found his anger funny. They liked to stir him up to break him down; to make him angry to see what he would do. 

They weren’t terrible people. They accepted it when Liam told them he was gay, didn’t make a big deal about it when they could have. It was a scary thing to come out at an all boys’ school, but Louis and Niall made it easy, gave him someone to walk down the halls with. They’d make jokes sometimes; about guys that might be gay, guys that would probably let Liam suck them off. Louis even asked once if Liam would do it to him, when they were drunk on wine from his Dad’s cellar, but it never became a thing. Liam had said no and Louis didn’t get bitter about it. Wasn’t hurt or rejected. 

But it added fuel to the fire, knowing Liam’s sexuality. It was a new thing Louis and Niall could use to get Liam seeing red. 

They’d make a comment about a football player on the opposing team’s ass to rile him up for a game, tell him that someone called him _fag_ and wait until Liam was gripping the boy’s shirt to tell him that person never said anything. 

It was nothing he couldn’t take. Liam was used to Louis and Niall. He knew all of their flaws and ticks like they knew his. He knew what they were hiding from the world, saw what they didn’t want anyone else to see, and he loved them. No matter what they did, he would always still love them. 

Except maybe his loyalty to Louis and Niall became a little blurry when it came to Zayn. 

 

There’d been a time that Louis had slammed Zayn’s locker closed when the boy was still looking through it, and Liam shoved Louis hard and told him to apologise. 

Which he did, albeit slowly and in a round-a-bout way that meant nothing. 

There was another time that Niall had made a joke about Zayn and Harry and how close they were sitting, arms draped over shoulders and lips inches away from ears, pointing them out to their entire group of friends. 

“Are you going to kiss him then or what?” Josh shouted across the courtyard, and some boys followed it with lip-smacking. 

“Go on, give it to him!” Niall yelled. 

And Harry had let go of Zayn with bright red cheeks, and Zayn looked up at Liam with confusion written all over his face, and Liam gripped Niall’s collar and wrenched him forward. 

“Leave him the fuck alone.” He growled, loud enough for all of his friends to hear, and the laughter stopped. 

But Zayn still looked hurt and Harry still looked scared and it felt like something that needed words to be fixed, but Liam didn’t have any words to offer. It was beginning to feel again like he just had his fists.

 

Liam had Maths with Harry, only Harry sat at the front of the class because he was short-sighted, and Liam sat in the very back corner with Niall. They’d never spoken to each other; Liam had never thought he had a reason too.

But after class once, as everyone was rushing out of the room to go to lunch, Liam stopped by his desk. Harry was still seated, trying to copy the last of the notes before the teacher asked him to leave, and Liam just watched. Harry’s writing was messier then his own. 

“What are you doing mate?” Niall asked, poking his head back through the door, and Harry’s head shot up. He frowned and looked behind him and his eyes widened. He obviously hadn’t even noticed Liam there, hovering over his shoulder. 

“I’ll be out in a minute. I just have to ask Harry something.” Liam muttered back, and waited until Niall left before he looked back down at Harry.

Who blushed and looked back down at his desk, twisting the pen in his fingers. 

Liam sat down in the chair closest to Harry’s and said “I just wanted to say sorry.”

Harry stilled his hands. “Why?” he near-whispered.

“For my friends being assholes the other day. To you and Zayn.” 

Harry finally looked up to meet Liam’s eyes. “I mean why are you saying sorry? Why are you bothering? Why do you care? And why is that the thing you’re saying sorry for and not everything else?” 

Liam blinked slowly and looked up to the teacher, who was still seated in her desk. If she was listening to them, she wasn’t showing it. He leaned in close to Harry, just to make sure, and was unsettled by how quickly the other boy moved back. “I just feel bad about it. I care about Zayn and I guess I just…” Liam stopped, trying to think of the right way to explain. Harry watched him expectantly, and it reminded him a little of how Zayn had looked at him when they met for the first time. Interested, not eager to judge. “Are you two together?” 

It may have been the way Liam’s voice broke when he finally got the question out, but he wasn’t entirely sure why Harry’s face softened. “We’re just friends. Is it true that you’re gay?” 

“Finish up boys.” The teacher interrupted them, just as Liam was nodding, and Harry closed his book and stood. 

Liam followed, and caught up to Harry before the boy left the room. “I am, yeah.” 

They walked through the halls together, something that earned them funny looks from people passing. “And you care about Zayn?”

“I do, yeah.” Liam admitted, watching Harry’s face for some kind of reaction. He had quite a nice face, Liam had never noticed it before. “I don’t – I didn’t apologise because I want something from him. Or you. I just don’t want him to hate me.” 

Harry nodded and stopped at what was presumably his locker. “I don’t really know what to say, so I’m not going to say anything. Just talk to him. Maybe start by apologising.” 

“Where is he?” Liam asked, a little too eager. The idea of talking to Zayn was exciting, and it felt like he could do it now when he couldn’t before. Like now he had permission.

“In the art rooms. Probably the one with the kiln.” Harry shut his locker and turned to Liam, green eyes unwavering as they appraised him. “This isn’t a joke, is it?” But the way he asked it wasn’t accusing; it was more accepting than anything else.

So Liam shook his head and said “We’re going to be good.” There may have been a million better ways to say what Liam meant, but his simple words made everything feel a whole lot less complicated.

 

He found Zayn in the very back art room, the one furthest from the building’s entrance. He could only see Zayn’s legs and the top of his head, the rest of his body blocked by the easel he was standing behind. 

So Liam knocked on the door and entered when he heard a faint “You can come in.”

“Zayn? Uh, it’s Liam.”

And Zayn pushed up onto his toes to peek over his canvas. “Liam?” 

Liam nodded and started to approach him, slowly so as not to spook him. He didn’t quite know the etiquette of art rooms. “What are you doing?”

Zayn’s head disappeared again, and Liam came closer. “Just working on an assignment.”

“Can I see?” 

There was silence, and Liam’s stomach began to churn but then came the sound of Zayn’s voice. “If you like.” 

It was beautiful. Liam didn’t know what it was, the branch-like objects coming up from the bottom or the blues and reds and oranges melding together behind them, but he did know that it was amazing. _Zayn_ was amazing. _Is_ amazing. 

“You’re really good.” Liam said, but Zayn just stared back. Waiting. “I came here to apologise.” 

Zayn nodded and dabbed his small brush in black paint. “What for?”

“For my friends and what they said last week.”

“You can’t apologise for other people, you can only apologise for yourself, so what are you sorry for?” 

Liam looked away from Zayn’s brush to the boy himself. “For letting them say it.”

“But you didn’t. You got Niall to stop. Are you still sorry?”

Liam nodded and muttered “Yes” when it dawned on him that Zayn wasn’t looking.

“What for?” 

“For reacting how I did. For hurting Niall.” 

“Then maybe you should say sorry to Niall.” 

“I have. I just… I don’t know how to say it. What I’m sorry for, I don’t know.”

Zayn finally stopped painting and looked back at him. “Try.”

But the only way Liam could think of apologising how he wanted to, of saying everything he wanted to say exactly how it needed to be said, was to kiss Zayn. 

So he did. He gripped Zayn’s hips, as gentle as he could, and pressed his lips to the corner of Zayn’s. 

He pulled back to watch Zayn, who blinked and looked down and smiled. “I got paint on you.” 

Liam followed Zayn’s train of sight, at the small black splotch on his white school shirt, and grinned back. “Oh.”

“So what was that for?” Zayn asked, putting down his paintbrush and turning to face Liam, hips still beneath Liam’s fingers.

“I like you, and that was the only way I could think of to tell you how much.”

“How come?” 

“I told you, I’m not good with words.”

Zayn smiled and placed his own hands on Liam’s. “Showing is better than telling. I meant how come you like me.”

“That’s another thing I’m going to have to show you.” And Liam kissed Zayn again, properly and open mouthed, and he decided that words may be better than fists, but nothing could beat this.


End file.
